


Merry Christmas, Abbie

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:13:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5484827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie isn't feeling festive. Ichabod fixes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Abbie

“Abbie doesn’t feel Christmassy at all,” Miss Jenny had said earlier over the phone. “You’ve got to do something, Crane. Especially now you’re sort-of dating. You know.”

Ichabod held the phone slightly away from his ear to dull the volume of Miss Jenny’s voice. It did not help. “I am sympathetic to your plight, Miss Jenny, but… what would you like me to do?”

“I don’t know!” Miss Jenny replied, frustrated. “You speak like a million languages, you transcended time, and you have the answer to most everything. Don’t tell me you can’t fix Christmas for Abbie.”

Her voice wavered a bit, and Ichabod made his mind up. The Mills sisters were the strongest women he’d had the fortune to know, in this or any time. They had bent over backwards for him more times than he could count. 

“Never fear, Miss Jenny. I would slice off my own arm to make the Lieutenant smile. I will, through whatever means necessary, fix this.”

“Thanks, Crane.” He heard the relief in her voice. “I just…. She’s had a tough time. I just want her to have this.”

He reassured Miss Jenny again and then hung up. Looking around their shared living room, he felt oddly uneasy. He had little to no idea what “Christmas” in this modern time meant. Should he don a “Santa” costume? No, he dismissed that idea as, quite frankly, inappropriate.

He called up the Google on his smartphone and asked it about Christmas. It responded with pictures of trees littered with baubles, presents and decorations. Ichabod made some notes, memorized the pictures, and set out into the cold.

He borrowed Master Joe’s truck from a grateful Miss Jenny and drove to a nearby farm to procure a tree, which he felled himself, feeling smug at the look of surprise on the old farmer’s weather-worn face. After getting it tied to the truck, he continued to the farmers’ market he frequented, where he purchased tiny white fairy lights. The bright pinprick bulbs reminded him of how the stars looked in the blanket of the night sky.

He wondered about decorations, and after some deliberation, chose a box of handcut wooden decorations, reminiscent of those available in his time. Fragrant, dried orange slices on ribbon would complete the adornment of his tree. 

On the way back, he stopped at a supermarket for some red and gold craft paper.

The scent of orange and pine followed him home as he dragged the tree and all its accoutrements inside, peering around the doorframe to check that the Lieutenant hadn’t unexpectedly come home.

She had not.

Fueled by coffee and doughnut holes - this delicious modern food was truly a kind of witchcraft - he stuck the tree in its stand, watered it and strung decorations, standing back after each addition to check the overall effect. He plugged the lights in, and, after a moment’s hesitation, paused to make paper chains from the red and gold paper, stringing them from the ceiling.

The effect, he had to admit, was cosy, pleasing, and most of all, festive.

He had just finished checking that everything was as he wanted when he heard the Lieutenant’s key in the door. 

“Damn, Crane. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. It’s not Christmas in the FBI Office, let me tell you-”

He saw her face the instant she realised that the room had changed. She didn’t speak for a full minute. He watched the wonder slowly spread over her face, and never had he seen anything or anyone so beautiful, than Abbie Mills in her smart black suit and shoes, with joy blanketing her pretty features.

“Lieutenant. I…. took the liberty of preparing the house for the upcoming Christmas festivities.”

She stepped towards him. “Damn, Crane,” she said again, but she was grinning like a fool when she said it. “You did this for me?”

“The idea was Miss Jenny’s,” he felt obligated to say.

“Still. You…” she gestured. “Did it. All this.”

He shrugged, thrilled at her praise but uncomfortable showing it. “She asked me to… help you feel, shall we say, festive… and I felt that the job should be done thoroughly.”

She stepped closer still. “I think you forgot something.”

“I fear you may be wrong.” He tugged a sprig of mistletoe from the pocket of his coat and held it above her head. “Did I not say that I was, if nothing else, thorough?”  
As the tree twinkled and the house filled with the scent of pine and oranges, he proceeded to make her feel very festive indeed.


End file.
